


Spit It Out

by whereareyoucas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 80s AU, AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Musician!Cas, Politics, Punk, Punk!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereareyoucas/pseuds/whereareyoucas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 1982, Dean and Sam form a punk band, and Cas is forced to join them. <br/>Warning: contains politics and gay sex oops</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've used 80's slang so basically bad and righteous mean good and bogus means bad.

1981, The South of England.

It was that time of the morning when Dean wanted nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of eternity. But instead, he found himself tying his laces and packing his bag for his first day at Shurley College. He stopped in the hallway as Sam, the younger brother, wished him luck.

“Pfft…I don't need luck,” Dean said half-jokingly, smiling up at him, “Stay punk, Sammy.” Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname and watched Dean leave the house. It was supposed to be summer, keyword here being ‘supposed’. People were still wearing hats and scarves. Dean increased his pace to a brisk walk. He wouldn’t admit it, but the cold was getting to him.

Dean made his way through the unfamiliar faces of other college students. Preening his hands through his tall blue Mohican, he shuffled into the college. He'd tried to be as conspicuous as possible, going for his slashed 'The Clash' t-shirt, a padlock hanging round his neck, a leather jacket covered in badges, tight tartan trousers and safety pins running from his lip to his right ear. Self pierced, of course.

The punk revelled in the sneers and glares he got. He wound his way through the college, eventually finding his Politics class room. Around him was what he assumed was the rest of the politics class, making friends, introducing themselves and stealing nervous glances at him. A few minutes later, their teacher opened the door to let them all in, looking warily at Dean, as he had seated himself right at the front. Dean grinned back a little too eagerly. This was going well.

The rest of Dean's day went quite well. He got called a punk faggot and knocked into a wall. This resulted in him punching one of his attackers and grabbing the other one in a headlock. That was when he was sent to the principal’s office. He considered his day to be a fulfilling one.

Once inside the office, Dean grinned confidently at the old man sat behind the desk.

“Hello, Dean,” he smiled (or grimaced), exuding smugness and dickishness and absolutely no charisma whatsoever.

Hello, Zach,” Dean replied, checking the little gold nameplate on his desk. Exquisitely pretentious.

Zachariah made a face at the nickname, but continued. “Normally, I don't deal with small student scuffles, but I thought I'd better get to know the trouble makers early on. It's your first day, and you're already getting a reputation.”

“I got shoved into a wall. ” Dean stated indignantly.

“So, you're using the excuse that they started it?” Zachariah smirked superciliously.

“They called me…what was it? ‘Punk faggot’ I believe. Creative choice of words, don’t you think? I don’t think I deserve to be picked out just because I dress differently,” Dean said lightly.

“In this college, we do not pick people out for dressing differently. We pick people out for punching other students in the face, Dean.”

Dean dragged his lips down in agreement with Zachariah. “If you're finished, _Zach_ , I'm late for Philosophy. Excuse me.” He exited the office, hearing a creepy 'I'll be keeping an eye on you, Dean' following him out.

By the end of the day, most students had found themselves a good group of friends. By the end of the day, Dean Winchester had found one energetic guy called Gabriel, who'd come in half an hour late to politics with not one but two lolly pops sticking out his mouth to walk out of college with. He liked Gabriel because he had a righteous taste in music, and a bad Ramones t shirt. All day, Dean had been getting the feeling that he was being deliberately isolated from the other people at Shurley College. He felt quite proud really. But it was nice to have found at least one friend. Even if Gabriel was annoying and never shut up and had already pushed Dean into the girls toilets twice. Dick.

Once out of the college, Dean recognised Meg's dark hair through the crowds of students, lounging around with a group of punks smoking across the street, so he and Gabriel walked over to join them. He'd met Meg at a local gig that summer, where she'd convinced him to let her sit on his shoulders throughout the set so that she could get a good view, and now found out she was in the second year here.

“Hey,” Dean greeted the group. Meg introduced the rest of the people to Dean, and Gabriel introduced himself. There was a guy called Ash with a bad hair style, who he discovered would be in his Chemistry class the next day, a blonde chick called Jo, Anna who he thought he'd spotted in Philosophy, Ruby and a weird guy who insisted on everyone calling him Lucifer, when his real name was Nick. Dean found the group very easy to get along with- punk being a minority culture in their area, they were predisposed to like each other, which is why the group bonded so quickly, over music and complaining about the government.

               “And there's also a far out teacher called Crowley,” someone was explaining, when - speak of the devil - he appeared behind them.

“Hello, little punks. Zachariah's told me to stop you loitering outside the college. You're giving us a 'bad image',” Crowley chatted congenially, his English accent somehow adding more sarcasm to his words. His voice was mocking, which invited Dean to point out what a dickhead Zachariah was.

“You think he’s a dickhead being his student, imagine having to _work_ for him,” Crowley grumbled.

Dean winced at the thought.

“How come you’ve met him already, anyway? The principle’s assembly isn’t until Wednesday,” Crowley asked, getting out a fag. Ash lit it for him as Dean explained his meeting in Zachariah’s office earlier.

“Oh yes, Zachariah hates anyone that expresses individuality. It reminds him people have real.”

                “Plus you did punch someone in the face,” Meg pointed out.

“Nevertheless, I’d watch it little punk. It’s not unheard of for Zachariah to expel students that he doesn’t like, no grounds needed.”

“That’s blatant discrimination.”

“He is tyrannical. Anyway, I think it’s time for you all to piss off for real before Zachariah, God forbid, comes down himself to shoo you away.”

 

*-*-*

 

A few weeks in, college was going quite well for Dean. He was still treated like shit, but hey, he wasn’t going to change his life choices just to fit in. He was a 'dirty' punk in a posh area, and he absolutely loved to offend as many ‘ordinary’ people as possible. If that meant studded biker boots, tight ripped up jeans and fishnet wife beaters, then so help him God, he will do it.

He got to know the group of punks pretty well too. At least they appreciated the lengths he’d go to to offend people’s eyes and express himself. He found out that Crowley had the attitude of a punk, if not the right age-range and liked being a teacher because it meant he could control a load of people, and make their lives a living hell if he chose _._ He fondly called the group, 'little punks' and complained with them about Zachariah, who would always send him out to 'deal' with them at the end of a school day, as Zachariah didn't want to get his hands dirty.

Dean discovered that Gabriel was from a well off family, but as rebellion and for independence, didn't take any money from them. Or at least, as little money as possible. Anna loved the attitude and philosophy of punk more than the style, but still sustained her right to express herself through artificially coloured vivid red hair. Lucifer only had a taste for punk music in its purest form: the ‘crappy pop punk’ and ‘psychedelic punk’ could go to hell. Ash was always at least half drunk, but was a genius which stopped him from being kicked out. They all hated authority and they all agreed that The Sex Pistols were heavy.

“Guys, how about we go pay Stiggface a visit this weekend?” Ash slurred out, one Thursday afternoon.

“Come on Ash, Gabriel isn’t that bad,” Anna replied sardonically.

Gabriel snorted out his soda and it took him a while to recover.

“The only Stiggface I see is yours. Besides, he’s talking about the band. They’re playing a local gig this weekend,” Gabriel replied.

“Sounds great.”

 

The music was already thumping out the small pub by the time Dean rolled up in the Impala, Sam in shotgun and Gabriel in the back.

When they stepped in, it felt like it was bigger on the inside. A colourful array of people were packed to the front, and a support band was on. It took them a while, but eventually Dean found the rest of their group, who had somehow managed to snag a booth.

“Wassup?” Jo shouted at them, as they budged up to accommodate the three additions.

“What?” Dean hollered back.

“WASSUP?”

“WHAT?”

Jo laughed and signalled Dean to forget about it. The band playing finished their set soon, and Stiggface came on. The crowd went wild-er, if that was even possible, and Dean thought he could spy a circle pit starting near the front. Most of the students in the booth got up to get a better view of the stage, and Dean wanted to go too, but he didn’t think it was safe for Sammy to go into the crowd.

“Come on Dean, I’ll be fine, I’m taller than half the people here anyway,” Sam whined.

“Heck no, you’re only fourteen. Your scalp hasn’t hardened yet.”

“Your scalp hardens before you’re one year old, jerk,” Sam pointed out, raising his voice over the music.

“What if I look after him?” Meg suggested. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into the circle pit. And if someone looks like they’re about to head butt him, I’ll rip their bollocks off.” That evil grin of Meg plus the puppy dog eyes of Sam was hard to resist.

“Ugh, fine. But don’t get separated. And I’ll be waiting here for you,” Dean acquiesced.

“Thanks!” Sam skipped off, Meg grabbing hold of the moose before he got completely lost in the crowd. She gave a casual salute to Dean before disappearing.

Dean leant back, relaxing a bit. He knew he was just being overprotective of Sam, but this was his first gig. Never mind that Dean’s first gig was when he was seven years old, but his dad’s parenting was not exactly a good example to follow.

A minute later, a guy sat down opposite Dean in the booth. Dean nodded at himm, then turned back to Stiggface. He did a double take when he realised it was the guitarist from the support act.

“Dude, you rocked up there,” Dean shouted at him. The guitarist smiled his thanks.

“Dean,” he introduced, sticking out his hand.

“Benny,” the guitarist said.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Dean offered, getting up.

“Ok,” Benny shrugged.

When Dean came back to the booth, they chatted over their pints about how influential music was and how much punk music had changed their lives, and Dean brought up his hero, Gary Floyd, lead singer of The Dicks. Dean felt inspired, and cocky enough to offer Benny his number.

“Look kid, I am flattered, but I don’t swing that way.”

“Worth a try,” Dean smiled. They shook hands and parted on good terms, and by the time a sweaty looking Sam and Meg wandered back to Dean at the end of the night, Dean had formulated a plan.

The next day, Dean gathered up all the money he'd earned from helping Bobby out at his workshop and bought a cheap second hand guitar, bass guitar, microphone and some old amps for him and Sam. He got home and set it all up in their unused garage. Sam stood next to Dean as he gazed at his own handiwork admirably.

“This is gunna be _bad,”_ Dean said to Sam, his eyes glittering with excitement.

*-*-*

“-and it's going to be bogus. So, you in?” Dean asked hopefully. He and Gabriel were sat on a wall at lunchtime, picking at their cafeteria food.

“Hell yeah, it sounds great, but I've never touched a drum set in my life,” Gabriel tilted his head questioningly.

“S'fine. We've never played instruments before either. We'll wing it.”

“Just like the Ramones did,” Gabriel added, smiling.

That week, the three started learning to play, Dean on lead, Sam on bass and Gabriel on drums. Gabriel somehow managed to persuade his parents to buy him a drum kit and let him keep it in the Winchester's garage. Each of the newly formed band members knew how important music could be to someone. Wanting to use this band for good, even though they barely knew how to play yet, they decided that their band would be a symbol for the young punks of their generation. Against Thatcher and the Tory government, and for expressing yourself, and freedom. Freedom to be whoever the hell you want to be, and do whatever the hell you want to do. Their influences were the greats: The Clash, The Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. Ideally, the band would be playing in London clubs, where the punk scene was growing fast. Even though they didn't know how to write songs yet.

“For punk. For anarchy. For us,” Dean finished his speech, raising his beer. “Now, what are we gunna name our band?”

*-*-*

The band was going great. They were learning to play their instruments through covering all their favourites. It turned out Dean had the best voice, so was now the lead singer as well as the guitarist. Gabriel had enjoyed playing in the band, but didn't have a very good attention span, so had quit two weeks in. He told them to keep the drum kit, and soon enough, Meg joined. Dean had even written half a song. He was good with words, less good with the music theory, just singing it to a random tune that sometimes fit to the music.

At college, Dean was still getting a hard time from the teachers and some of the other students. He'd hardly got into any fights since that first day, and never slacked in class, but alas, he was a no good dirty punk in their eyes. One day he was cleaning the halls as punishment from a teacher who found an anarchy symbol graffitied on her classroom door. And okay, even though it _was_ Dean that had done it, she only assumed it was because of the way he dressed. He muttered to himself, calling the teacher an evil son of a bitch from hell, when he heard what sounded like a harp floating in from one of the music rooms nearby. Weird, he thought to himself, it's a bit late for anyone to still be here.

Throwing the sponge he'd been using to the floor, he marched off to find the source of the sound. There was a door, slightly ajar, that the sound was coming from. The punk poked his head through the door, mohican first, to see who it was. Inside, there was a guy playing the harp, with his back to the door. Dean didn't recognise him and edged in to get a better look. He guessed it was a student, by the look of his young face, and he had a vague recollection of seeing him in the canteen before, but never really got a good look. The harp-playing guy was completely oblivious to Dean, lost in his music. His hands glided over the strings expertly, crafting a string of notes into a beautiful composiyion. The anarchistic punk was quite enjoying the relaxing, heavenly sound. He also got quite a good look at the guy. Dressed quite formally, hot, kind of sleepy looking, Dean felt a crush developing, with the romantic soft music surrounding him, making him feel like he was on a cloud almost. This is weird, he thought, he's so not punk, he is the _opposite_ of punk and he looks like a complete snob. But so hot and talented, he thought, admiring how easily his fingers found each string.

Eventually he cleared his throat, causing the guy to jump and turn to face Dean, who smiled warmly at him.

“Hey, sorry, didn't mean to make you jump,” he started sheepishly. All he got in return was a faint nod. The guy was staring at him, and Dean only noticed now how startlingly blue his eyes were.

“I'm Dean,” he offered. Again all he got was a faint nod, and continued nervous staring.

“What's your name?” A few moments passed.

“C-c-” the guy stuttered.

Dean realised the guy must be quite spooked. A random punk with a bad reputation for fighting cornering him in the music room, with no one else around. And his smile probably looked less friendly when framed with the safety pins. He sighed, because for the first time, he didn't want this reaction to his appearance. He wanted the guy to like him.

“Spit it out,” Dean joked, hoping he didn't sound too harsh.

The guy cleared his throat. “Castiel.”

Finally, Castiel averted his eyes and just sat there nervously, fiddling with nothing. Dean understood that Castiel probably didn't want to be harassed by the punk any more, and understood how hopeless this little crush was.

“Well, um, stay punk Cas,” Dean nodded and made his exit.

After he'd left the room, Cas relaxed. Yes, it was a bit alarming when a guy with Dean's reputation randomly starts talking to you in a near empty building but that wasn't the only reason Cas' voice had been caught in his throat. All of the 'normal' students disliked and stayed away from the punks but Cas secretly admired them for being so fearless. He had noticed Dean round school before, in awe of the confidence he oozed, the individuality and the raw attitude of him. And maybe, because Dean was really hot.

Later that week, Dean, Sam and Meg decided to call the band Spit It Out.

They managed to play a few very small gigs, thanks to a friend of a friend of Bobby's, and they completely sucked but were not disheartened. Except Meg left the band. She was replaced almost immediately with Anna. The band continued, and life went on.

****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> political views and sexy times

It was April 2nd, 1982. Spit It Out were practising loudly. They'd been through quite a few drummers, but at that moment, Ruby was with them. By now, they were mostly playing their own songs, written by Dean. The lyrics and music arrangements were simple, but sincere.

The door to the garage swung open as Bobby entered. He told them to come watch the TV. The students gathered round as they watched Margaret Thatcher on screen, delivering a speech. Dean's lips rolled up in distaste as he listened to what she was saying. England had just declared war on Argentina over the Falkland Islands. Bobby shook his head gravely, and exchanged a few words with Sam, before they left for the garage again.

"This war is bull," Ruby announced, flopping down behind the drum kit.

"Tell me about it. A whole war over a stupid island on the other side of the world," Sam agreed.

"People are going to die for this. Has no one told Thatcher that the British Empire is over and done with?" Dean added in a gruff voice, pacing.

Ruby watched as Dean kicked a metal bin across the floor. "We should protest," Ruby said.

The other two agreed, but didn't think any further on how they could protest.

Later that night, once Ruby had gone home, Dean, Sam and Bobby were sat in the lounge, discussing the war.

"War is atrocious. I remember all the propaganda getting young men to sign up and fight against the Nazi's in World War II. I got caught up in it all and ended up joining the armed forces. That was the worst year of my life. Near got blown up twice. It changes you... I can say that I've ended more human lives than I kept track of. I am not proud of it in any way. I finally got discharged when I injured my leg, bad. I was still healing when the war finished. But by then, I'd lost all faith in this country. If they start the propaganda encouraging young boys to join up again, I swear... this stupid war," Bobby muttered darkly.

Dean and Sam nodded in agreement. Bobby hardly ever talked about his time as a soldier. Their uncle finished his drink, and bid them an early good night, leaving them on their own.

"When I'm older, I'm going to be the Prime Minister," Sam piped up. "I'll sort England out."

"Politics is corrupt, don't do it," Dean replied, smiling at his little brother.

"You do it at college!" Sam retorted.

"Yeah but I'm not gunna work in it, so it doesn't matter."

"What are you gunna do then?"

"Obviously be the greatest punk front man the world has ever seen," he said triumphantly. "Then, with all my influence, I shall sort this country out, through the power of music."

Sam scoffed at his older brother. "My plan was better."

The next day at college, people were really, really pissing Dean off. There were dicks going round, patriotically cheering for England, wanting the soldiers to kick some Argentinian arse. Their Politics teacher decided to have an impromptu debate on whether the war was right or not, and Dean basically took over the whole class. He hadn't been able to get to sleep the night before, and instead just thought about how wrong Thatcher was to declare war, working himself up. Dean couldn't keep his mouth shut when it came to debates anyway, but today he hardly let anyone else speak. He was furious about how much support Thatcher was getting for this, and so had a lot to say to his fellow students, who were almost intimidated by his passion. He really was in the wrong college, with the wrong type of people. The only person that agreed with him in the debate was Gabriel, who was backing up everything Dean said, adding a few curses in appropriate places. The lecturer had stopped warning Gabriel about his language a while ago. The two punks made a formidable debate team.

It was now the end of the day, and Dean and Anna were messing about in tutor. Anna had got out her sketchbook and showed Dean a political comic she had drawn the night before, depicting Thatcher as the rather funny looking head of a ship, holding Neptune's trident and singing 'Rule Brittania', as it went to war with Argentina. The Argentineans looked very confused by the disembodied singing head.

Interference crackled over the school speakers, interrupting Dean and Anna's laughter as Zachariah's voice came though. It was a special announcement. Shurley College was having a music festival in 6 weeks, and students were asked to enter. A clever smile grew on Dean's face as he listened to the announcement. The perfect opportunity for Spit It Out to voice their opinions on this matter. His smile turned to a groan as he listened to the announcement say they had to sign up in Zachariah's office. He said good bye to Anna, and left their tutor room, on a mission.

On the way to Zachariah's office, the punk exchanged a few words with Ruby. She had decided to tap out, and Lucifer would be filling her place as Spit It Out's drummer. Finally, Dean arrived at the principal's office. There were only two other people there; they both had a very short chat with Zachariah, and then he wrote their names down. Dean moved up to Zachariah's desk and shot him a smile laced with poison.

"Hey, Zach. I'd like to enter my band, Spit It Out."

Zachariah looked at him, the disgust on his face plain to see.

"What kind of music do you play?" he asked bluntly.

"Punk."

"No."

Dean stared at the old man for a few seconds.

"Why the hell not? In the announcement, you said this festival was for all kinds of music," Dean exclaimed, although he couldn't say he wasn't expecting this.

"Because I said so, and I am the principal."

"This-this is bullshit. This is discrimination. This is-"

Zachariah interrupted Dean's outburst by leaning in closer to Dean and sneering. There was no one else in the office now, but Zachariah still lowered his voice to a hiss.

"I don't want dirty little punks ruining my college's image. There are going to be important people at this festival, and I do not want to put people like you on display."

The student was speechless. He hadn't expected a principal to talk to him like that. He knew he'd been aggravating the guy a lot these past few weeks, but he had no idea he had crawled this far under Zachariah's skin. Then he realised that the principal had just made a big mistake. Zachariah sat back in his seat, and watched suspiciously, as Dean left without kicking anything on his way out.

At home, Dean told Bobby and Sam everything that Zachariah had said. They were completely outraged. Then Dean told Bobby he had to go in and complain. He would go in and do it himself, but he knew it would be taken more seriously if Bobby did it. It was all just strategy. Bobby agreed to the plan, wanting justice for his boys. However, when Bobby came into the college, expecting to shout at Zachariah, he was taken off guard when Crowley was sent to meet him instead. Crowley offered Bobby a seat in his cluttered office.

"I want to take this up with the old git himself," Bobby started arguing almost immediately.

Crowley chuckled, setting a friendly atmosphere immediately.

"Yes. It would be quite amusing to see Zachariah's face if you came storming into his office... but I'm afraid that you'll just have to talk through me. I understand that your nephew, Dean, tried to enter his band in the music festival?" Crowley said coolly.

"Yeah. And Zachariah said no, and he had no right reason to say no," Bobby fumed.

Crowley nodded. "Yes. The festival is supposed to be for all kinds of music, however I am sad to say that our college isn't that friendly to anti-establishment anarchists. Zachariah's quite intimidated by the punks in the college," Crowley conversed, shame faced.

"I guessed that. Zachariah called Dean a 'dirty little punk' and said he didn't want people like him to ruin the college's image."

Crowley's attention perked at that. "He actually said that?"

Bobby nodded in confirmation, and then looked confused as Crowley's face lit up.

"You know what, I think we can actually get him for that," Crowley thought for a few moments. "By the time I'm done with him, he'll have no choice but to let Dean's band into the festival."

Crowley told the slightly confused Bobby how he planned to persuade Zachariah, and Bobby nodded along with it, pleased. Rarely in the situation where people did him favours, Bobby was taken aback, and his thanks were genuine.

"Is that a tear of gratitude I see in your eye? Oh come, let's not be maudlin," Crowley said sarcastically.

Bobby was just going out the door, but turned back when he heard this. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he decided to let the teacher off. Crowley smirked, then headed to his boss' office to have an important talk with him.

Crowley was stood with the group of little punks.

"So I told him that your uncle was going to sue the college for discrimination and wanted financial compensation for the emotional stress he caused you after your little chat in his office, and that he even wanted to make it public, so everyone could know how the college treats it's minority's," Crowley looked very pleased with himself. It looked like blackmailing was a new talent of his.

"So he's letting our band be in the festival? Far out," Dean exclaimed victoriously.

"Yes. Um, well, on one condition. You have to let one of the students taking Music as an A level join your band."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's hoping he'll be a good influence on you lot," the teacher chuckled.

"He?"

"Yes. Zachariah had a recommendation. Castiel Christian."

Dean's eyes lit up with recognition as he nodded. He remembered the awkward encounter he'd had with Cas, the small crush he was harbouring on him, and how into his music he had seemed.

"Who funnily enough, happens to be Zachariah's nephew," Crowley added.

The smile that had graced Dean's countenance quickly disappeared.

"And I'm guessing Zachariah's recommendation is less a recommendation than an order?"

"That's correct," Crowley answered apologetically.

"It's fine, thanks man." Dean sounded distracted. Cas was Zachariah's nephew? For a moment, Dean was flushed with anger. He'd guessed that Cas was a middle class snob, especially for playing the harp of all things, but now he was related to the biggest son of a bitch there is, Zachariah? Not that there was any point feeling like this, it was either let Cas join or nothing. However, Dean quickly realised, you can't choose who you're related to. For some inexplicable reason, Dean felt hope for the new addition to the band. Maybe, just maybe, Cas was actually a nice person. In the music room when they'd first met, Dean had gotten good vibes from him. Cas had seemed nice, albeit very nervous. Once Dean began thinking about it, Cas was probably nothing like his uncle, for all the punk knew, he could hate the dick. Poor sap, he could do with a cool friend like Dean to deal with the struggles of having to have Zachariah as an uncle. Plus, he bet an A level music student could really help improve the band, and even give them more credibility so people actually took them seriously. The smile returned to Dean's face.

Meanwhile, Castiel had been called to Zachariah's office. He knocked and entered nervously, completely oblivious as to why he'd been called there. His uncle gestured for him to sit down.

"Castiel."

"Sir."

"Castiel," Zachariah repeated. "Have you heard of one of your fellow students, named Dean Winchester?"

Cas shifted awkwardly. "I- um, yes."

"He has entered his 'punk' band to the music festival."

Cas didn't know what to do with this information, so just stared at his uncle, waiting for him to explain.

"You're going to join that band," Zachariah said, a smile twisting his lips, but not reaching his eyes.

The teenager hesitated, wondering if he'd misheard. "You want me to- why?"

"Because, Castiel, I don't want his type of music at our college festival, but unfortunately, I have to let them join, or his idiot of an uncle will sue us. They are scruffy, offensive and I know they're out to ruin things for your beloved uncle, so I want you to join and make sure things don't get too out of hand."

Worrying his lip, Cas processed this. He had mixed feelings. Of course, there were reasons he didn't want to join the band, but he couldn't exactly sit down and chat about it with his uncle over tea. The punks were intimidating and there was a good chance that they'd hate Cas being forced on them. And although he admired the punk style for being so fearless, he didn't enjoy the music because he was more attuned to the classical sound. On the other hand, this would be a completely new musical experience. Cas lived for music and was always up for new things like this, it would be very interesting. Also, he'd get to spend time with Dean Winchester who he had developed more of a crush on since their first meeting and this time he'd be less shy. However, Zachariah interrupted Cas' happy thoughts.

"By too out of hand, I mean, they can't be too political, too provocative, too anarchistic. They have to be nice, and civilised since they're representing the school. They will do what you say Castiel because if you leave, they can't play at the festival."

Alarm fluttered across Cas' face.

"Oh and if this band is not to my liking, if this band _embarrasses_ me, I'm sure your father wouldn't be too happy with you if he finds out you've been expelled."

There was a sharp intake of breath. Cas immediately understood the blackmail, and understood he couldn't fight it. He was terrified of his dad and didn't know what he'd do if he was expelled. Zachariah was nasty and had never really liked Cas, so he was sure he was more than capable of expelling Cas for something like this. Reputation was everything to the principal. He didn't even realise he was nodding until Zachariah had started talking again.

"Excellent. You may go back to your normal timetable now. I'll be seeing you again, soon."

"Hello, Dean, Lucifer," Cas nodded as he approached them. It was the end of the college day, and the two punks were stood chatting across the street from the college entrance.

They simultaneously turned round to greet him.

"I understand that I am to join your band," Cas said stiffly. He was in an awful mood from the threat Zachariah had made and felt slightly sick from thinking about his 'mission'. All he could think about was what Zachariah had said to him, the consequences if he failed and it made Cas desperate to be anywhere but there.

Dean laughed at Cas' formal word choice and started walking with Lucifer. Cas fell into pace with them as Dean started talking.

"Okay, so, band practice is every day after tutor ends, at my house. The band's called Spit It Out, and it's me on vocals and guitar, Lucifer's on- Cas, are you listening?" Dean snapped his fingers in front of Cas' face.

"Mm," he mumbled, eyes glued to the ground.

There were a few moments of silence as Dean bit his lips and thought. He wasn't sure what to think of Cas' behaviour. The music student seemed less shy now and more downright miserable to be there. So much for Dean's hopes of saintly Castiel being a nice guy. He probably thinks he's better than us, Dean thought defensively.

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he realised they'd only been talking for a few minutes; maybe he'd lighten up soon. In any case, Cas was the band's only chance, so he had to try harder.

He gave a sidelong look to Lucifer, who shrugged. For the rest of the walk home, Dean and Lucifer tried their hardest to keep up a friendly conversation, to which Cas tried his hardest not to be included in. He walked slightly behind the others, only saying 'mm' when a question was directed at him. Lucifer's patience was starting to wear thin. Cas was so miserable that Dean could almost see a dark cloud forming above his head.

Sam was already practising in the garage when the unlikely trio got there. Dean introduced Cas to his little brother and explained their new predicament. The younger Winchester took the news quite well and joked about how bad Zachariah was. This earned him a long, hard stare from Cas and that was when they silently decided not to bring up his uncle again.

"So how does this work, music boy," Dean asked Cas, plugging in his guitar.

They decided to play a few of their own songs to Cas so he could get into the swing of things. Then they'd play the same song a few times over so Cas could get a feel of it. He then joined in with his own instrument, which turned out to be the violin. Spit It Out exchanged wary glances as they watched the music student rub rosin on his bow with practiced speed. Two repeats into their song, Cas started playing with them. The tune was just a simple echo of the vocals with some differentiations, but it sounded far out. The actual instrument sounded awful. It clashed badly with the instruments and somehow took away from the attitude of the song, giving completely the wrong feel. Once they'd finished the song, Dean stopped the group to talk to Cas.

"Okay, the tune, that was awesome," Dean started, admiration in his eyes, "but, the violin, well. It doesn't really go with the style. Can you play any other instruments?"

"I can play many instruments-"

"Far out, can you bring a different one tomorrow so-"

"But I want to play the violin. I brought my violin, so I will play my violin." His cold blue eyes narrowed.

"Can't you just bring a different-"

"No."

The two boys stared it out in a battle of wills for couple of seconds before they heard a loud crash come from the drum kit. They turned around to see that Lucifer had thrown his sticks to the floor, and crossed his arms across his chest.

"You're so stubborn, I guess you think you're better than us." He stated angrily.

At first, Cas was taken aback. He was in a nasty mood and didn't want to cooperate with the band. He knew he was being stubborn but he somehow had to take charge of the group of anti-establishment punks to ensure he wasn't expelled from college. He hadn't wanted to give the impression that he looked down on them. However, Lucifer's tone of voice sparked something in Cas and the music student started shouting, not able to control what he was saying.

"Maybe because I am better than you. I'm good enough to be directing an orchestra, not directing a bunch of talentless punks. This band is terrible, I hate the lyrics, I hate the sound, I hate it all," he said, instantly regretting it, but also too angry to take any of it back.

"Woah, don't you think you're being a bit harsh, Cas? I know we could do with some improvement but-"

Cas swivelled around to face Dean. "You. Are you the one that writes the lyrics?"

Dean nodded his head, almost shyly. Cas saw the chink in his armour and stabbed.

"The lyrics are the worst part. What the hell are you talking about, it's all meaningless drivel."

"You fucking-" Dean stopped himself, and ran his fingers through his dyed blue hair. He then went and viciously kicked the door, splintering it.

The music student knew he was pushing his luck now, but didn't know how to stop.

"If I leave this band, you can't go to the festival. I'd probably be doing everyone a favour by quitting now, dirty little punks."

That did it. Lucifer was up and about to punch Cas in the face in one second, before Sam ran over to stop him, pinning the older guy to the wall. Cas reeled away in alarm and was about to leave when Dean turned around from the wall he'd been facing.

"Y'know, you're exactly like your uncle," disgust twisted his tone.

They glared at each other for a few seconds before Cas left for good.

Sam unpinned Lucifer from the wall once he made sure the guy wasn't going to smash up the drum kit or anything else they'd regret later, and turned to Dean glumly. "I guess we won't be playing the festival then."

Cas was sat cross-legged on his own bed, breathing heavily after practically running home. He held his head in his hands dejectedly. All he could see when he shut his eyes was Dean's face, the hurt and disappointment on it dragging down the edges of his mouth. He wanted to reach out and hug this imaginary Dean until he smiled again. He also wanted to turn back time and not have the shouting match in the garage. They had done nothing wrong, he thought, recalling how friendly they'd all been at first despite him being a dick. How Sam had tried to joke with him, and Cas just glared at him and how Dean had tried to make friendly conversation which Cas ignored. Even Lucifer had started off civil, and to be honest, it wasn't surprising their patience snapped. The punks were very different to what Cas had expected. And he thought about the last thing Dean had said, about Cas being exactly like his uncle. Rage rippled through Cas again as he thought about the man that had put him in this situation in the first place. Cas was a nice person. He wasn't usually like his Uncle at all and he wanted to fix the first impression he'd made on the band. He decided he would try to go back to band practice the next day, if they even wanted him back. If they did, he'd still have to do Zachariah's bidding, but he didn't have to be such a dick about it. They hadn't actually been that bad, although Cas could think of a lot of improvements and they deserved to play at the festival. Also, Cas wanted to see Dean smile again.

The next day at the end of college, Dean was standing in the same place again. Cas walked over to him cautiously.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas," Dean nodded. "I thought you quit," he said, not looking Cas in the eyes.

"I did, but I would like to join again. I understand if you reject me, but I want to apologise for how I acted yesterday. I did not mean the things I said. I am under an incredible amount of stress and I…acted out. I assure you, I will not act like that again."

Dean looked Cas up and down, as if assessing his honesty. It seemed Cas passed the assessment, as Dean visibly relaxed, and leaned against the wall.

"Under a lot of stress, huh?"

"Yes. And…punk isn't really…. my thing."

"Oh come on man, punk rocks," Dean smiled, and Cas smiled back, taking this as confirmation that he was back in the band.

"I'm more of a classical man myself," Cas watched Dean wrinkle his nose in mock disgust, "Where's Lucifer?"

"He quit yesterday, we're waiting for Ash the new drummer, he should be here in a minute."

"I'm very sorry for causing this inconvenience," Cas apologised, frowning at himself.

"S'cool man, our drummers are always changing. Here he is, let's go."

The three guys walked home quickly, Dean introducing Cas to Ash. They got to Dean's house and piled into the garage, Sam joining them a few minutes later. Like yesterday, they decided to play through their songs while Cas listened, but instead of joining in, Cas said he'd think of things for them to improve on. They assumed he'd be improving them music wise, however Cas was really going to improve them to suit Zachariah more. As it was going to be a protest set, the songs had to be about the Falklands War. In the short space of 3 days they had managed to write two songs that they wanted to play at the festival. Cas sat on the floor and listened to them carefully, making a mental list of improvements. Once they finished, Cas stood up to address them.

"It's good, but there are a lot of improvements to be made," Cas bit his lip before continuing, "the first thing that needs to be changed is the lyrics. The writing's fine, but the subject matter isn't. I'm sorry."

Dean shared a confused look with his band members.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, worried about the reaction he was going to get. He reminded himself that he was in charge and it was his education on the line.

"The lyrics should not be so politically provocative. You can't do songs about how wrong this war is."

Sam, Dean and Ash spluttered at this. Cas continued, trying to explain himself.

"A lot of people disagree with your opinion on the war. You should be proud of your country. It's like, if they invaded England, you'd want us to fight then. This is no different, the Falkland Islands are ours," Cas said, repeating what he'd heard his father saying about the war.

He glanced around and saw that the band was looking at him disbelievingly. His cheeks reddened as he realised he might've just made a fool of himself.

"Cas," Sam hesitated, trying not to sound mean, "you're talking propaganda bull."

Dean nodded in agreement. "If you're going to be in this band, you're going to have to at least understand our point of view. But we're not wasting another band practice on talking. Come over tomorrow evening. It's Saturday, so no band practice. I'll explain why we 're so against the Falklands War. It'll do you good to think for yourself."

Reluctantly, Cas agreed to it. He didn't think Dean was really going to change his mind, but he couldn't think of a good excuse not to. Plus, this meant Cas was going to be hanging out with Dean, outside of band practice, even if it was directly related to it. He went and sat down again, trying to hide his eagerness.

When Sam heard that Cas was coming round the next evening, he raised his eyebrows suggestively to Dean, who glared at him. His little brother smirked but said nothing. They finished their band practice, Cas had joined in on his clarinet but decided it didn't go with the music, so instead he just sat quietly, making mental notes on what he wanted to improve in the band.

Saturday evening came fast. Dean went to grab them a couple of cokes, leaving Cas admiring the walls of Dean's bedroom, which were covered. Flyers from gigs, lyrics, and lots of cuttings from newspapers and magazines. The wall featured a lot of Sex Pistols, The Clash and a band Cas didn't recognise called The Dicks. Dean appeared behind Cas holding out a coke bottle, which Cas took and they both went down to sit on the bed.

"Thatcher is bad for our country," Dean started, immediately in speech mode, "she took away the power of the working class by destroying the unions, which they had struggled to put in place over a hundred of years ago. She is divisive amongst the working class, turning people in communities against each other. She's made it a 'me, me, me' greedy society." Dean took another sip from his bottle coolly, while Cas blinked as he processed the information and thought up a counter.

"Yes, but she's also done good for the country. She's helped small businesses; she's helping us out of the recession. She sticks to her beliefs."

"But that's exactly the problem. She sticks to her own beliefs and doesn't listen to anyone else. 'This lady's not for turning'. And anyway, getting us out of the recession isn't working. By creating a 'me me me', 'spend spend spend' society, we'll be in a second recession any time now. She's privatised everything. It's a mess. The working class are being trampled on, we're becoming an elitist society. All this and she hasn't even been in power for three years."

All Cas could do was nod. He was out of his league, having a debate with a politics student; he got most of his information on politics from his dad anyway. What Dean said made Cas think. Of course, Dean's argument didn't suddenly make Cas hate Thatcher, but it did make him want to question the things he was hearing, from his dad and from the media. He watched Dean, who had got up to pace while he talked. This was Dean in his zone, and Cas felt slightly amazed by how skilled and knowledgeable Dean had revealed himself to be, how he didn't even hesitate when he was talking, and how he oozed confidence in what he was saying. Dean went completely against the stereotype of punks being stupid and useless, and made Cas want to hit himself for making such assumptions based on someone's style, even if he'd made the assumption subconsciously. Then Dean started speaking again.

"Now. The Falklands War. Why we're here. Spit It Out is doing this whole festival thing to protest against it, Cas. Thatcher should not have declared war."

"She had no choice, the Argentinians invaded," Cas reasoned.

"Of course she had a choice. Peaceful negotiations, including economic offers. Argentina is in a financial crisis. Part of the reason they invaded in the first place was to get the populous' mind off how bad a state they're in and unite them in enthusiasm for the war. So we should've offered economic assistance and maybe worked out something where we'd hand over the islands peacefully in 30 years time or something."

"But they probably tried peacefully negotiating and it obviously didn't work. We can't just let the Argentinians invade. It's our country."

"But it's not, is it? It's a bunch of islands half way across the world. The British Empire is over, the Argentinians should have their islands back. They are the closest country."

"So just abandon all the British people living on those islands? They'll have to live under Argentinian government, I'm sure they want to keep the island."

"So you think it's right that people die, just so a few Brits can live in England, but not in England? They can move back here."

"But... they started it."

"And England is a developed enough country to deal with the situation better. Our soldiers will die, lots more of their soldiers will die. It's going to do more bad than good.

"But... but they're our islands! They started it."

'Really?' Dean asked with a tilt of his head and raised eyebrows.

"Okay. I've ran out of counterarguments. Just give me a second," Cas requested.

He sat and considered the points Dean had made, staring blankly at a wall. They made sense. Cas just needed a minute before he came to a conclusion in his head.

"I agree with you. The Falklands War was wrong to initiate and we need to make a stand against it," Cas stated.

"Really?" Cas confirmed with a nod, and smiled when Dean fist pumped the air in victory, "Far out. Where'd you get all your opinions from anyway? Been reading The Daily Telegraph a lot?"

"No. From my family. Mainly my dad, my uncle. My Dad's a high up officer in the armed forces, so he obviously supports the war a lot."

"They sound fun," Dean said.

The music student sighed deeply, directing his gaze down at his hands.

"What's up?"

Cas looked up at Dean, squinting, as if trying to decide whether to tell Dean something or not.

"It's my dad," he finally said decisively, "he wants me to follow in his footsteps, or Zachariah's. Something in or to do with the government. But what I really want to do is write and compose music. I guess classical music to me, is like what punk is to you. Music is my passion in life, my raison d'être. But I can't do it. I have to get a respectful, proper job, and I won't have time to do music any more. My dad didn't want me to do a Music A level, I'm lucky he didn't make me change it, but that's why if I want to practice, I have to stay late at college. He says music is a waste of time. I guess it is a waste of time really," Cas said, voice drenched in sorrow, "I'll have to give it up soon," he repeated wearily.

The punk he was addressing shook his head furiously.

"No. No, Cas. You can't stand for that. This is your life. If it really is your passion, stand up for it. Don't let them control your life. You're in charge. Express yourself. Music is never a waste of time, and you actually seem dedicated and talented enough to go far in the music industry. Don't let them control you."

Cas smiled sadly at Dean. "But he's my father."

"Yeah, and? There's a way out," Dean said, passion lighting his eyes.

"Fight!"

Cas chuckled at Dean's enthusiastic fist pump.

"Rebel!"

Cas stood up, fist pumping along with Dean's dramatic pep talk.

"Punk rock!" Dean watched Cas laughing fully, and suddenly had an overwhelming urge. The punk leaned in, and pressed his lips against Cas'. His mouth was soft and responsive under Dean's for a few seconds before he abruptly pulled away. Dean smiled hopefully (and slightly guiltily) at Cas, but stopped when he saw Cas' countenance was one of shock.

"I've-I've got to go," Cas said, blush high on his cheeks, as he turned and practically ran out, before Dean had a chance to stop him. He listened to Cas' footsteps banging down the stairs two at a time, then heard the front door bang behind him.

Dean cursed and kicked his chair across the room. He scolded himself for being so impulsive. They'd only just got Cas back in the band. He had to go and freak him out like that. But, he could've sworn, the way Cas looked at him sometimes, there was something there. And hadn't he kissed back for a few seconds? Maybe it was all part of his hormonal imagination, Dean thought to himself bitterly.

It was Sunday afternoon. Bobby had gone to do some tinkering in his workshop, and Sam had gone out with some of his friends, leaving Dean alone in the house, to mope and listen to Stiff Little Fingers at full volume. He almost didn't hear the knock on the front door.

"Cas," Dean exclaimed, surprised to see the student on his front door step.

"Hello, Dean."

"I guess you're here to tell me you've quit the band?" Dean asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"No."

"Oh, well, um, band practice isn't on today."

"I've come to talk about what happened yesterday." Dean nodded gravely and invited him inside. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Dean started apologising.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out, it won't happen again I promise, we really need you in the band, I'm sorry-"

Cas held up a hand to stop Dean's babbling.

"Stop apologising. I wanted to kiss you."

They looked at each other, Dean widening his eyes in disbelief.

"But then, why did you leave so quickly?" Dean asked, happy but confused.

"My family's very religious, especially my dad, and they have always taught me that being gay is wrong. But, in my opinion, they're just using religion to cover their hate. I like you, and I think your pep talk about controlling my own life actually worked. I had to go clear my thoughts, but I've reached a decision. I want to lead my own life and I want to kiss you. "

"That is a good decision. Punk rock!" Dean beamed.

"How is being gay punk rock?" Cas tilted his head inquisitively.

"Gary Floyd."

"What?"

"Gary Floyd is the openly gay front man of the punk band The Dicks and my hero. He never hid his sexuality and his band is as punk as ever. See, if you think about it, being gay is completely punk. You're rebelling against society and normal conventions. See how punk we are. Punk," Dean said happily.

"How many times do you say the word punk," Cas teased, laughing. It was the same unrestricted, completely free laugh he did yesterday. A laugh that didn't hide anything, that made his eyes scrunch up at the sides, and his teeth show. It was beautiful. Dean felt the urge to kiss him again.

For the second time in as many days, Dean leaned into Cas slowly. This time, Cas was ready, and went to meet Dean's mouth in the middle. It was a soft kiss, just lips moving against lips for a while. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas' waist, huddling his warm body closer till there was no space left between them. He hummed happily when he felt Cas' hand cup his cheek, the same hands that could so elegantly play almost any instrument. Just thinking about that sent a hot spark through Dean's body. Was this the start of a hand fetish? His dick twitched in confirmation as Cas' other hand stroked slowly down Dean's back. By now, Cas' lips were parted slightly, so Dean took the invitation and licked hotly into his mouth. Cas moaned quietly around Dean's tongue, parting his lips wider.

Dean guided Cas to sit on the sofa, without breaking their lips apart for a second. They practically fell onto the seat, Dean straddling Cas' hips, as he started kissing down his throat, his cold metal lip piercing making Cas shiver. He watched Cas' Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. Dean moved back to Cas' kiss-swollen lips and was pleased when Cas licked hungrily into mouth. Dean responded by sucking on Cas' tongue gently. The kissing continued, getting hotter and more desperate until Dean started rocking into Cas' hips helplessly. Cas broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"Hey, I'm not that easy," Cas said, flushed from the make out session, but smiling fondly.

Dean looked at Cas apologetically and gave him one last quick kiss before rolling off him.

The next couple of weeks were a blur. Cas came to every band practice and was really helping them. After trying out a couple of different instruments, Cas settled on the keyboard and it went great with the rest of Spit It Out's instruments. He had lots of improvements to suggest and would explain music theory to them, having to stop and explain intervals and scales slowly to the students who'd never realised music was so technical. They were starting to sound a bit professional, with Cas' guidance. By now, they had a full set of songs protesting against the Falklands war and were ready for the festival, which was in just two weeks time.

At college, Zachariah had checked on Castiel thrice. He would call him into his office, a fake-looking smile plastered onto his face. As Cas sat down one time, he realised that he'd never actually seen his uncle's genuine smile. There was always a venomous twist to the curl of his lips, as if he was about to snap and start shouting. The venomous twist would remain on his face as he asked how the band was doing. Cas would assure him it was doing well. Then he would ask Cas if it was doing well to Zachariah's standards, and subtly remind Cas of the threat hanging over his head. Cas would lie. Zachariah was satisfied and let him leave.

In private, Cas would have panic attacks about his inevitable expulsion from the college. He hadn't told the band what would happen to him once they played the festival, he hadn't told anyone. He thought it was right that Spit It Out should be able to play the festival and thought it was right that they get to protest against the war. This was Cas' good deed. He was rebelling for them. And the expelling from college, he'd just have to cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, he was drowning those thoughts out.

It was the weekend. Cas had brought over his own cassette, and they were listening to it in Dean's room. By now, Cas felt completely at home in Dean's house. He visited frequently, and almost spent more time there than he did in his own home. Bobby and Sam would always be pleased to see him, greeting him warmly every time he showed up on the front door, and conversing with him like one of the family until Dean dragged him up to his room for some privacy with his hot as hell boyfriend.

"It's called Ode to Joy, composed by Beethoven," Cas was explaining, as he closed his eyes and seemed to drift off with the music. "It's my favourite."

Dean watched Cas, smiling fondly when he started waving his fingers, conducting an imaginary orchestra. When the track ended, Dean stood up to change the cassette.

"Way too calm," he muttered to himself as he flipped one of his own cassettes and put it up to maximum volume. Cas almost jumped out of his skin as The Sex Pistols started beating out of the speakers, Sid Vicious' rough tones filling the room, with Dean singing along to 'God Save The Queen'.

"It's the first punk song Sam and I ever heard," Dean shouted over the music, grabbing Cas' hands to make him stand with him.

There was a knock on wood, and Sam poked his head round the door uncertainly.

"Sam!" Dean yelled in greeting, "Come show Cas how to pogo!" Sam grinned, as he came fully into the room, glad that he hadn't walked in on them making out or anything. He did not need to see that. The tall teenager bounded into the middle of the room and started jumping around with Dean.

Cas watched, clear blue eyes wide in confusion. Dean and Sam were now leaping around, like they were head butting the air in time with the music. "Pogo?" Cas shouted, tilting his head to the side.

"It's how you dance at punk shows, you try!" Dean said, throwing his head back in laughter as Cas did a tiny, uncertain jump forward.

The music student rolled his eyes and gave up.

"You look like idiots," he yelled.

The Winchesters danced around a bit more until the end of the track.

Dean flopped down onto the bed, bringing Cas down with him, spluttering indignantly. Sam raised his eyebrows amusedly and left, saying he had stuff to do.

"See ya Sammy, stay punk," Dean called after him and then turned to where he had Cas pinned to his bed.

"Pogoing not your thing then," Dean smirked, voice now low and warm.

"Not my thing," Cas confirmed, feeling Dean's gaze on his lips.

Dean raised his hand, to stroke his thumb gently over the swell of Cas' bottom lip, before crashing their mouths together. Cas parted his lips eagerly, Dean licking hotly into Cas' mouth. He felt, rather than heard, Cas gasp when he took Cas' lower lip between his teeth and pulled gently. One of Cas' hands found it's way to the small of Dean's back, while the other snaked to the back of Dean's head. The punk softly rocked his hips into Cas', eliciting a delicious moan from him.

When Cas didn't stop him, he rocked his hips again, and experimentally ran his hands down the length of Cas body, lingering at his tummy. Cas broke the kiss.

"Dean," he said slightly breathlessly. "I've-I've never um... I've never done anything before."

"You've never gone beyond the kiss?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows disbelievingly.

"I'm a closet homosexual, what do you expect?" Cas answered dryly.

Carding his hands through Cas' dark, already messed up hair, Dean lowered his voice to a purr. "Do you want to go beyond a kiss?"

Cas nodded, dragging Dean down into a hard kiss. His tongue swept over the safety pin jutting out of Dean's lip, tasting the cool metal. Then Dean slowly began unbuttoning Cas' shirt, until Cas' hands knocked his out of the way to unbutton them much quicker. Dean smirked at his eagerness as he took those hands and brought them to his mouth. He looked at Cas through his eyelashes as he gently kissed the palm of his left hand, then kissing the pad of each finger, finally ending on his index finger, sucking on it slightly. He learnt the feel of his hands, the tiny marks and scratches and calluses from playing so many musical instruments, everything. The hands that could make such beautiful music with seemingly no effort... Dean's stomach muscles tightened as he gave the other hand the same treatment, watching Cas squirm underneath him. He finally gave Cas his hands back, kissing him again while he finished unbuttoning his shirt and helped him shrug it off, setting the pace. Dean's t shirt soon followed.

Dean started kissing down Cas' body, starting from his lips, to his neck, to his collarbones, lingering a while to suck gently on his nipples and then eventually down to the waistband of Cas' jeans. By now Cas was panting slightly with arousal. His hand cupped around the back of Dean's neck. Dean chuckled as he undid Cas' jeans and pulled them down over his hips, along with his boxers, revealing Cas' hard and already leaking cock. He leant down and placed a chaste kiss on the tip. Cas whined and bucked up helplessly, needing more, his fingers threading through blue hair. He placed his hands on Cas' hips to stop him from squirming so much, as he took the head in his mouth and sucked, tasting the salty pre come on it. He heard Cas whimper, the sound going straight towards Dean's dick, as he sucked and licked at Cas, his hand stroking where his mouth couldn't reach, occasionally stopping to flick his tongue against Cas' slit, evoking a breathy moan from him. It didn't take long before he started to feel Cas' muscles clenching beneath him. "I'm gunna-," was all Cas could get out before he cried out in orgasm. Dean swallowed it all, then finally pulled off and wiped his mouth.

He crawled up to lay face to face with Cas, smiling. Cas' eyes were still clouded over from his orgasm, but he kissed back hungrily when Dean pressed their mouths together. Dean started stroking himself as they kissed, before he felt Cas' hand over his.

"Let me," Cas whispered. He rubbed his thumb over Dean's slit before he began pumping his hand, slowly but firmly. "Is this... okay?" Cas asked uncertainly.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean said in a strangled moan, "your hands." That was all he could get out, rocking into Cas hand.

Cas smiled and continued to stroke Dean, warmth flooding through him when he realised it was him making Dean make those tiny delicious moans until he felt the muscles clenching underneath his hand, then hot come spilling over his hand. The two boys lay there, breathing heavily for a few minutes before Dean finally spoke.

"I guess we better get cleaned up," he smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou so much for reading this far!


	3. Chapter 3

Zachariah was looking out his office window. He should have had the biggest office in the college, but had chosen this small, smelly one instead, solely for the view. The view was just of the college gates, which the students arrived and left through, but this was very important to Zachariah. It meant he could keep an eye on the students without actually having to be in their presence. He hadn't been able to watch the students through his looking glass for a few weeks because he'd had so many meetings, but today he had the time to watch it all. He gazed out, watching the flocks of students stream out of college gates. It was relaxing in a way, to be able to watch the steady stream. It gave him a sense of power and control to know every face in the college.

His eyes slowly wandered across the street from the entrance. Loitering there was the group of punks. Zachariah ground his teeth together. How many times had they been told to not stand there? They were tarnishing the reputation of the college. He was about to call for Crowley to shoo them away, when he noticed his nephew walking towards the group and decided to watch for a minute more, to see how well he was interacting with the punks. He didn't know Castiel that well, but he didn't think the punks were his kind of crowd. He almost felt sorry for making him spend time with the uncivilised oiks, but then outside the window, Castiel reached the group.

Zachariah watched in horror as Dean scooped him into a one armed hug and gave him a discreet kiss. Eyes bugging out of his skull, Zachariah spun round, having seen enough. Castiel, his own nephew, his flesh and blood, was dating Dean Winchester, the dirty no good punk that had been a pain in Zachariah's arse since day one. Even worse, Castiel was a faggot. Zachariah screwed his face up in disgust. He would pay for bringing shame to his family. He considered getting him kicked out of the college the next day, but then a better plan came to mind. He smiled viciously as he reached for the phone.

The next day, Dean and Ash were in their usual place, waiting for Cas to join them. It had been ten minutes since the last students had shuffled out. They finally decided that Cas wasn't coming, so they left and had band practice without him. It was weird. Dean had caught glimpses of Cas at college that day, but hadn't got an opportunity to talk to him. Throughout band practice, Dean was quieter than normal.

A couple of days later, Zachariah called Dean and Ash into his office. He flashed a smile at them, barely concealing the smugness.

"I am sorry to inform you, your band cannot play in the college music festival," Zachariah stated, not even bothering to greet them in his eagerness to share the bad news. The 'sorry' sounded sarcastic.

It took a few seconds to sink in.

"Why the hell not?" Dean growled outrageously.

Although Zachariah leaned back warily in his chair, the smugness was still written all over his face. "Castiel came in this morning to tell me that he's quit. As that goes against my conditions of having a music student in your band, you can't play at the festival."

Ash shook his head disbelievingly as Dean stood up, glaring menacingly at Zachariah. The punk considered punching the principal in the face, just to wipe the smugness off it, but figured 'his face asked me for it' was a poor excuse. Instead, to vent his frustration, he kicked the wall on the way out. Ash, following him out, gave Zachariah a dirty look. He hated authority.

Dean and Ash marched home and told Sam about what had happened. Dean had stomped his anger out on the short walk home, and was now more distraught, about the band and about Cas.

"How could Cas do this? We've been practising so much, we were starting to sound really great," Sam exclaimed, hands gesturing angrily in the air.

"Back-stabbing son of a bitch," Ash muttered, then flicked Dean an apologetic look. There was a few seconds of silence.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam asked softly. Of course, they were all angry with Cas betraying the band, but he'd also betrayed his boyfriend.

"Yes, I'm 'okay'. Can we skip the mushy feelings crap please? Cas stabbed us all in the back, but I guess if he can't even be bothered to tell us that he's quit, he can go screw himself," Dean said, voice breaking at the end.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. The younger Winchester looked at his brother doubtfully and was about to say something more, but Dean's eyes pleaded him to move onto something else. Sam sighed deeply and went onto rant about how sucky Zachariah was.

Truthfully, Dean wasn't actually angry with Cas. He hadn't had the chance to talk to him all week and now he realised he must have been purposely avoiding him. The whole thing was suspicious and wasn't very in character for Cas, who was usually straightforward and considerate. No, instead of being angry with Cas, Dean was more worried as to what could've made him quit. He had to do something about it.

The cool night air brushed against Dean's skin as he stood in the back garden of a large, semi detached house. Instead of grass, the whole garden was covered in paving stones, edged with neat little flower beds. This was Cas' house. He'd never actually been inside; only dropped him off sometimes, not wanting to meet his parents. Porcelain gnomes smiled sickeningly at Dean as he gathered up some small stones. He glared back at them, before lightly chucking one of the stones at the window on the right, praying it was Cas' window. After chucking another stone, a light flickered on. Only now did Dean realise how stupid an idea this had been. If this wasn't Cas' window, he was in big trouble. Luckily, it was Cas' sleepy face that appeared through the glass pane, looking confused. He smiled sleepily at Dean for a second, but then stopped abruptly, as if he had just realised where he was. He opened the window, glancing behind him worriedly.

"You can't be here," he said as quietly as possible. Dean took a few steps forward.

"Why? Is it my fault you quit the band? Are we over?" he called back, keeping his voice at a low level. Even then, Cas still looked around, checking to see if any lights flickered on at the sound of Dean's voice.

"Yes, no, and you don't want to know," he answered in reverse.

Dean nodded plainly, "Can I come up?"

He bit his lip, thinking about it. "Okay, as long as no one sees or hears you."

"Don't worry, I'm a ninja," Dean said seriously. It took two minutes for Dean to find his way onto the kitchen extension, then pulling himself up onto Cas' window ledge, finally scrambling in.

Once Cas had confirmed that Dean's escapade had not woken anyone up, they went to sit on his bed.

"Tell me what's going on Cas. Why did you quit?" Dean asked immediately.

"It's...it's my dad," Cas said, looking at his lap. Dean found Cas' hand and squeezed it, silently telling Cas to continue.

"He found out I was dating you. He found out I was in an anti-establishment punk band, singing anti-Thatcher songs, and protesting against the Falklands war. He was so angry and disappointed in me. He felt like I had betrayed him. He banned me from talking to you or any of the punks ever again, and told me that Zachariah would keep an eye on me so I couldn't do anything behind his back. He said that if I even tried to speak to any of you, Zachariah would expel all of us."

Dean's eyes steadily got wider throughout Cas' explanation. He ran a hand through his hair, setting the Mohican jutting out at odd angles.

"So that's why I quit. And why I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry, it's not very punk of me," Cas smiled sadly.

"Cas," Dean hesitated before going on, "Are you going to be okay going through the rest of your life like this? Giving up music, getting a normal job, getting with a woman, the whole lot? What's more important, you not disappointing your old man, or your happiness?"

"No, to be honest, I think I'd rather be expelled. I'd run away from home, I want to get out. I don't want them to control my life, Dean-"

"Punk rock!" Dean interjected proudly. Cas raised his eyebrows at him, Dean looking back guiltily.

"But it's not just my education at stake."

"Bollocks to our education, dude. We can just go to another college if we have to. You know our college is a shit hole. Plus, education is not as important as our freedom. We need to fight. We need to protest against this war. We have to do something," Cas nodded along with Dean's speech, expecting him to start righteously fist pumping any time now.

"I agree, but how? They're not going to let us back into the festival now," Cas said doubtfully.

"Are you sure it's okay if you get kicked out of college? It will change your life forever," Dean asked.

"Yes. My life is my own life, not my father's. And if taking back my life means getting kicked out, so be it."

"Then I think I have a plan."

It was the day of the festival. It was a good day to hold the festival on, the scent of freshly mown grass wafted across the few acres of fields the college had booked to hold the festival. There were around a thousand people milling round, chatting in low tones. Bordering the field were smart little stalls, selling coffee, sandwiches and handing out leaflets. At the north end of the field, a big stage had been constructed. The college had gone all out on this festival, wanting to make a good impression on all the officials that had come to see it. This could put Shurley College in the national papers; every parent in Southern England would want their student to come here.

Cas was stood at the side stage, watching the choir. He fiddled with his coat nervously. After Dean and Cas' chat in his room, Cas had apologised profusely to his dad and uncle. He said how much he regretted ever knowing the punks, and how much he hated them, how he just wanted to get back to normal now his ordeal was over. He finally convinced Zachariah to let him play in the music festival by himself. He was going to do a clarinet solo. The choir eventually finished their set to a massive round of applause and filed off stage, a curtain going down quickly so people could set the stage for Cas. He was about to play the clarinet for over a thousand people. But he was not nervous about that. He was nervous because the plan was about to kick in. He breathed deeply as the curtain rolled back up, then entered the stage to another massive round of applause.

The audience closest to the stage was basically comprised of every college student and most of the teachers. The locals and the 'important people' were nearer the back. Zachariah was stood in with the college students looking disgruntled. He wanted to be stood with the officials, but decided it was safer if he was close enough to the stage to make sure everything went swimmingly. Cas caught Zachariah's eye and winked at him. This was not a good sign. Zachariah narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Cas started playing Ode to Joy. His gaze travelled further back, and he noticed that there were shapes behind Cas. Squinting, he realised what the big shape to the left behind Castiel was a drum kit, covered in a black cloth. Zachariah gasped, and started pushing his way through the crowd, scrabbling to get to the backstage door. The second he reached the only way to the stage, it slammed locked. He pulled at it uselessly, and then spun round to see Crowley standing a few metres away.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the door?" Zachariah shouted at the teacher.

Crowley smiled at him, shrugging innocently.

But before he could shout anything else at Crowley, interference went through the massive speakers they were standing near. Cas had stopped playing. Zachariah backed up frantically, trying to see what was going on.

Spit It Out had entered the stage.

The covers had been thrown off the instruments, and they were plugging their stuff in, causing the interference. Cas had dropped his clarinet and was now on a keyboard. The crowd were murmuring, a ripple of concern setting in. Zachariah's heart was sinking.

Suddenly replacing the whining interference were heavy guitars and a fast drum beat as a quick introduction, before Dean started shouting into the microphone.

"We're Spit It Out and we have taken over this festival!"

Another quick guitar riff.

"This is our protest against the completely bullshit Falklands War. Go crazy!"

Spit It Out rushed into their first song, 'Thatcher can suck my dick' loudly.

Excitement rippled through the crowd, like electric energy. There were carefully placed punks and ex drummers of Spit It Out dispersed through the masses of people, causing havoc. They had started pushing and shoving along with the music, beginning a few mosh pits with the rest of the students. The atmosphere got more frantic, and enthusiastic. Some of the punks had unfurled banners with 'Stop the War' painted on them starkly. As the song went on, more and more people gave in to the chaos, and started shoving and pushing back, shouting and jumping around. Spit It Out had moved onto another of their own songs, with a catchy chorus. On stage, Dean encouraged everyone to join, in, and soon there was a massive, bellowing chant.

_Stop the madness  
End the war_

It was complete anarchy. The local officials were retreating, not wanting to get caught up in the near rioting and the newspaper reporters were going wild, snapping pictures of everything happening around them. The teachers couldn't even attempt to stop it, so instead, just watched.

Zachariah could feel his blood boiling. With furious adrenaline, he ran to the lane running along the side of the field, and found the phone box, frantically calling the emergency services.

Spit It Out got through two more of their own songs before Dean spotted police cars coming down the lane.

"You have all been great, but it looks like our time's nearly up. We'd like to end with a Sex Pistols cover. STAY PUNK," Dean shouted into the microphone, flashing a wolfish smile before they started playing 'God Save the Queen'.

They only managed to get half way through the song until the speakers cut out. Two police officers had kicked in the door and cut them off, then made their way back out into the crowd, along with three other officers, slowly calming the crowd down. Zachariah had been waiting by the side door and stopped one of the police officers when he'd tried to join his colleagues.

"Excuse me, aren't you going to arrest the four hooligans that started this mess?" Zachariah spat at the tired looking officer.

"No, they didn't really break the law. It's just your average college protest, no one's been hurt, they'll get off with a warning."

"But...no! They ruined the festival, they ruined everything!"

The officer gave him an appraising look, then turned to leave. By now the crowd was much quieter, and a lot of people were making their exit, not wanting to get in trouble with the cops. Zachariah grabbed the police man's arm.

"NO, YOU BLOODY IMBECILE, DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? IF YOU DON'T ARRES-" Zachariah had been slowly inching his face closer to the police officer while yelling, and was cut short when the shorter man grabbed Zachariah and slammed him into the floor.

"Sir, you are under arrest for obnoxious behaviour towards an officer of the law, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be..." the officer continued, as he handcuffed Zachariah, almost purple with anger.

As this was happening, Spit It Out had started sneaking out of the side door. One by one they noticed who was being arrested and burst out laughing, hard. Even the abused officer was smiling at the irony of it. It was this moment that a photographer chose to appear, and started snapping pictures of the scene before him.

"Strike a pose boys, this is gunna make the front page!" the photographer said excitedly.

The camera flashed, as each of the boys posed, Zachariah face down in the grass, the police officer just finishing off saying Zachariah's rights.

As the older man got pulled up, and escorted away the police officer, he turned round and yelled at Spit It Out.

"YOU'RE ALL EXPELLED!"

This set off another burst of laughter.

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok thankyou lots and lots for reading, and kudos it means alot to me thankyou!  
> I had an epilogue but I thought it was good to end the story there so basically I will quickly say: Spit It Out become popular in the underground punk scene in London and use that picture of them and Zachariah as the front cover for their first album, Castiel helps write and produce Spit It Out while also writing a score with a fellow classical musician. Dean inspires loads of gay punk kids with his open gayness and gets to meet Gary Floyd.  
> That is it thankyou again for reading thankyou thankyou yep


End file.
